The Fish Are Biting, and the Room Is Hopping
New York Times - United States
Published: May 26, 2009
Indoor fishing in South Korea, where choosing a spot can be as important as it is on a river.
SEOUL, South Korea — Like any good fishing spot, this place is obscure and off the beaten path. I go through the urban wilderness of Seoul, past neon glades of takeout joints, mechanic shops and massage parlors, and through a gulch of high-rise apartments and emerge through a side canyon of two-, three- and four-story buildings emblazoned with fluorescent-lit signs advertising everything from grilled pork ribs to English lessons.
If “Blade Runner” were turned into a fishing program, this would be the filming location.
On a side street, a building entrance leads to a basement, and the blackened door opens to Gold Indoor Fishing Spot, a dark room with a black ceiling. Centered in the room is a rectangular pool with murky, thigh-deep water.
The angling attendant, Kang Jeong-hyeon, welcomes me at the door. It’s 10,000 won ($7.90) for an hour of angling, and he walks me though the setup. Anglers are given a stiff, tapered 4-foot fiberglass rod with a sponge-grip handle. A heavy monofilament line a little longer than the rod is tied at the tip, and the line is rigged with an inchlong glow-stick bobber, a lead sinker and an eyeless hook.
Kang hands me a tin bowl filled with bait.
“It looks like dog food,” I say.
“No, it’s not dog food,” Kang replies.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s food for fish.”
A black wooden countertop surrounds the pool, and cut into it are circles to hold the bait bowls and paper-cup ashtrays. Small landing nets are provided, along with a holding bucket and a hand towel to wipe off fish slime.
Picking a seat is as important as picking a fishing spot along a river. Not all the water in the pool is equal, as there are detectable currents from the water pump system. I glimpse shadows of fish hanging around the flowage. Already four anglers sit at different spots around the rectangle, staring at the glow-stick bobbers.
I settle in at a corner chair, and Kang tells me the pool is stocked with regular carp, slime-sided Israeli carp, panfish-shaped Crucian carp and a few catfish. The prized catches are fattened goldfish and the colorful koi carp called silk carp in Korean.
Fingering a moistened kibble, I bait my hook and plop the line into the faint current. The glowing bobber rights itself and I wait for a bite. A man on the far end of the pool misses a strike and curses and tosses his line back in. Other anglers shift their bobbers, adjusting their lines so the bait lines up with a probing fish.
The bobber dips and I set the hook into a muscular fish. My rod bends and I grab for the net. It’s an Israeli carp, also called a mirror carp, a strong but dimwitted quarry. I release the fish, put on another kibble and throw the line back out. A minute later, I catch another and so does another guy across the pool. After catching two more, I realize I am having fun beyond my most cynical and snobbish angling expectations.
It is a Wednesday evening. Old Korean pop songs play on the stereo, and middle-aged Korean men stop by to wet a few lines, light up a smoke, chat with the fishermen next to them, catch a few fish and leave — much as a guy would stop at a bar after work on his way home. I ask around why they come here to go fishing.
Some say out of boredom, that it is fun, that it is exciting by way of “seon maht,” a Korean expression meaning “hand taste,” which is the sensation of a rod coming alive in an angler’s hand with the accompanied mild adrenaline rush — that jolt of having a fish on and not letting go of the wild thing on the end of the line. A big fish will produce the best seon maht, but a tiny trout, if caught on an lightweight rod, can produce thrilling seon maht, too.
Kang comes over to my side and says: “We are playing a fishing game. If you catch a fish, you bring it to the scale, and if weighs in at 222 or 444 or 666 or 888, you can get a prize.” He points to a digital scoreboard wired to the electronic scale. “And now we are starting a contest for catching the biggest fish.”
The prizes are simple and low-value: a box of bathroom soap, kitchen utensils and sundry items. They are to make the experience a little more fun and competitive. Over the last couple of years, some indoor fishing establishments have turned the concept into big-money gambling operations where anglers could win up to 3 million won ($2,375) to catch a tagged fish. The owner of Golden Carp, a Mr. Choi from Jecheon, was arrested, and he fought his case all the way to the Korean Supreme Court, which ruled this past February that his high-stakes angling scheme was a form of illegal gambling.
When it’s time to leave, I square up my fish tab and Kang checks the scoreboard. One of the fatter carp I caught comes in at second place, and I’m awarded a matching set of two rice bowls. I leave the building, and outside the strong fish stink on my hands is noticeable. For this evening, that’s fine. I’ll take my seon maht wherever I can get it.
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/27/sports/27fishing.html?_r=1
New York Times - United States
Published: May 26, 2009
Indoor fishing in South Korea, where choosing a spot can be as important as it is on a river.
SEOUL, South Korea — Like any good fishing spot, this place is obscure and off the beaten path. I go through the urban wilderness of Seoul, past neon glades of takeout joints, mechanic shops and massage parlors, and through a gulch of high-rise apartments and emerge through a side canyon of two-, three- and four-story buildings emblazoned with fluorescent-lit signs advertising everything from grilled pork ribs to English lessons.
If “Blade Runner” were turned into a fishing program, this would be the filming location.
On a side street, a building entrance leads to a basement, and the blackened door opens to Gold Indoor Fishing Spot, a dark room with a black ceiling. Centered in the room is a rectangular pool with murky, thigh-deep water.
The angling attendant, Kang Jeong-hyeon, welcomes me at the door. It’s 10,000 won ($7.90) for an hour of angling, and he walks me though the setup. Anglers are given a stiff, tapered 4-foot fiberglass rod with a sponge-grip handle. A heavy monofilament line a little longer than the rod is tied at the tip, and the line is rigged with an inchlong glow-stick bobber, a lead sinker and an eyeless hook.
Kang hands me a tin bowl filled with bait.
“It looks like dog food,” I say.
“No, it’s not dog food,” Kang replies.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s food for fish.”
A black wooden countertop surrounds the pool, and cut into it are circles to hold the bait bowls and paper-cup ashtrays. Small landing nets are provided, along with a holding bucket and a hand towel to wipe off fish slime.
Picking a seat is as important as picking a fishing spot along a river. Not all the water in the pool is equal, as there are detectable currents from the water pump system. I glimpse shadows of fish hanging around the flowage. Already four anglers sit at different spots around the rectangle, staring at the glow-stick bobbers.
I settle in at a corner chair, and Kang tells me the pool is stocked with regular carp, slime-sided Israeli carp, panfish-shaped Crucian carp and a few catfish. The prized catches are fattened goldfish and the colorful koi carp called silk carp in Korean.
Fingering a moistened kibble, I bait my hook and plop the line into the faint current. The glowing bobber rights itself and I wait for a bite. A man on the far end of the pool misses a strike and curses and tosses his line back in. Other anglers shift their bobbers, adjusting their lines so the bait lines up with a probing fish.
The bobber dips and I set the hook into a muscular fish. My rod bends and I grab for the net. It’s an Israeli carp, also called a mirror carp, a strong but dimwitted quarry. I release the fish, put on another kibble and throw the line back out. A minute later, I catch another and so does another guy across the pool. After catching two more, I realize I am having fun beyond my most cynical and snobbish angling expectations.
It is a Wednesday evening. Old Korean pop songs play on the stereo, and middle-aged Korean men stop by to wet a few lines, light up a smoke, chat with the fishermen next to them, catch a few fish and leave — much as a guy would stop at a bar after work on his way home. I ask around why they come here to go fishing.
Some say out of boredom, that it is fun, that it is exciting by way of “seon maht,” a Korean expression meaning “hand taste,” which is the sensation of a rod coming alive in an angler’s hand with the accompanied mild adrenaline rush — that jolt of having a fish on and not letting go of the wild thing on the end of the line. A big fish will produce the best seon maht, but a tiny trout, if caught on an lightweight rod, can produce thrilling seon maht, too.
Kang comes over to my side and says: “We are playing a fishing game. If you catch a fish, you bring it to the scale, and if weighs in at 222 or 444 or 666 or 888, you can get a prize.” He points to a digital scoreboard wired to the electronic scale. “And now we are starting a contest for catching the biggest fish.”
The prizes are simple and low-value: a box of bathroom soap, kitchen utensils and sundry items. They are to make the experience a little more fun and competitive. Over the last couple of years, some indoor fishing establishments have turned the concept into big-money gambling operations where anglers could win up to 3 million won ($2,375) to catch a tagged fish. The owner of Golden Carp, a Mr. Choi from Jecheon, was arrested, and he fought his case all the way to the Korean Supreme Court, which ruled this past February that his high-stakes angling scheme was a form of illegal gambling.
When it’s time to leave, I square up my fish tab and Kang checks the scoreboard. One of the fatter carp I caught comes in at second place, and I’m awarded a matching set of two rice bowls. I leave the building, and outside the strong fish stink on my hands is noticeable. For this evening, that’s fine. I’ll take my seon maht wherever I can get it.
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/27/sports/27fishing.html?_r=1
